I was planning to read a nonfiction book for April after posting about two novels in a row. I was also planning to post before the end of the month. But my brain kept quoting the classic Phoebe line from Friends: “I wish I could, but I don’t want to.”
Instead, I read three more novels last month and zero “work” books. (Fellow writers will know what I mean by that). Two of the three were wonderful novels written by writers in my community: Lynn Rankin-Esquer’s Murder, Hijinks, and the Peridot Cufflinks and Ginny Rorby’s Time After Time. Two very different but equally great books!
The third was The Fifth Man by John B. Olson and Randall Ingermanson—the same kooky scientists that wrote last month’s feature book, Oxygen. When I realized they’d written this sequel, of course I had to order it! I read a bit of it here and there, until I found myself with one of those rare, completely empty days towards the end of the month. I’d had a long list of writing goals to work on that day. Did I accomplish any of them? No. No I did not. Did I read the rest of the 350-page novel in one sitting? Why, yes. Yes I did.
Here’s my question: did I waste that day?
On the one hand, reading is never a waste, right? (It’s not like I watched six hours of Love Island. Because I’ve never done that before…)
On the other hand, the work has to get done somehow so you just have to make yourself do it. (Butt in chair!)
But I always get the work done eventually, even if I miss a self-imposed deadline every now and again. (I know all sixteen of my subscribers—subscribe below if you haven’t already!!!—have been desperately waiting all week for this post.)
Though my day would be more enjoyable if I worked first thing and didn’t have tasks perpetually hanging over my head. (Make better choices, Amy.)
Didn’t I read somewhere on the internet that certain brain types use procrastination to be more productive? (Surely social media has a tip I won’t actually use to help a diagnosis I don’t actually have. I better keep scrolling!)
But let’s face it, if I’d worked harder in the past, maybe it wouldn’t have taken me nine years to write a book I haven’t published yet. Maybe if I don’t work harder now, that will never change. (Shame! Shame! Shame!)
What if I just really wanted to find out whether or not the astronauts made it safely off Mars? That felt very important at the time. (Isn’t that why they call it getting “lost” in a good book?)
As I was reading, I justified finishing the novel by telling myself I would write a blog post about reading for fun instead of working on writing goals. Which meant I had to finish the book as a writing goal. See? I was productive after all!
We laugh at Phoebe’s line because we all wish we could be that blunt. Instead we make up excuses for the things we don’t want to do and justifications for the things we do want to do.
I justified reading the whole novel by turning it into a blog post. A week ago, I justified buying an over-the-top Disney jacket by telling myself it would make my mom happy if I used my Christmas Costco gift card on something other than necessities. Once, I justified watching six hours of Love Island by claiming it was an interesting study in psychology. (Okay, maybe I’ve done that more than once.)
What if we could separate wants from goals? Can we separate wants from shame? Do we really need the excuses or the justifications? Can we let ourselves drop the pretense?
Can we simply just want things?
And if we can simply just want things, then can we simply just enjoy them?
So, back to the question: did I waste that day? If I take out the goals I haven’t yet accomplished (but probably will some day), the things I should have done that I didn’t do (but will get done later), and the justifications (or mental gymnastics), then “waste” is an irrelevant word.
I enjoyed that day. I finished the book because I wanted to. I will deal with any consequences, like posting late (i.e. posting rushed with probable typos), and life will go on. It is what it is. Maybe some things can be that simple.
Amy C. Lutz 
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